Explain how being weird inspires you originality.
Weird. It was the one word that has haunted my childhood. Flipping through a slideshow of photos on my labtop's library of photos, I recollected past memories without intending to. I never thought that my "weird" personality and interests would categorize into originality; that is, until leaving middle school did I begin to realize that being weird led me to where I am today. Despite the taunts, teasing, satire, and sarcasm, I wouldn't alter my history because it made me grow strong thereafter. Being Weird inspires my originality by the interests that I've taken, and the life experiences that I've encountered, thereby revealing that abnormality could be the north star to my trail of cognition.
My weirdness traces back to the interests I've taken, as evidenced by the summers I've spent circa 2006 to present times and the hobbies I've acquired through the vast amount of time as an underage individual. Whether I am on summer vacation or not, I always have books nearby because there will always be a point in time where I will become weary of idle chatter. Ere my pre-sophomore year, I packed up about twenty novels or so in my backpack to bring along with me to the Bahamas. Unfortunately, my aunt declared that the Bahamas isn't an isolated island and that I should just take a novel with me, to which I inarguably fell into compliance. During my second year in middle school, I started to study Latin. It was then that I began to read about the Parthenon as well, and undeniably, I was fascinated by the ancient Mediterranean legacies and myths. I once mentioned studying Latin to my peers, to which few thought was interesting and many have responded, 'It's a dead language.' I don't exactly see how Latin is dead, with the exception that we don't regularly speak it in society. Note that universities' mottos are mostly in Latin and there are many students that major in it annually. Nevertheless, contradicting other people's beliefs would only give them another reason to claim that I'm weird. I do not, or rather am not, a branch diverging from the common crowd, and have not found reason to be so.
I think that being weird brings the life experiences that I've encountered and still does, as evidenced by the events that collide around mu dedication to college preparation and the actions that ignite my devotion to motivation, all of which indicates ecstatic unexpectancies spiraling to a sequel of originality. A year ago, I discovered Lund University, where I'd like to study abroad for a semester or two in agreement from my home college or university. It was then that I became trilingual, since I wasn't fluent in Latin. As I crafted my proficiency in advance for studying abroad, I had some observative friends who muttered, or considered me weird. On December 27, 2012 during Winter Break, I was at Barnes & Noble when I didn't feel like such a misfit. There I met two sisters from Karlskrona, a city nearby Lund and introduced ourselves to one another. I recognized what they were saying and luckily, the older sister was fluent in English in case I lost my words. Supposedly, my so-called "abnormality" intersects with memorable reminiscences. The College Board had agglomerated the shards of my devotion to college-bound motivation and additionally made a couple of my friends think that I'm weird. As a sophomore, I took that SAT and found out that I was eligible for the Florida Academic Scholars (scholarship), irrespective of my terrible score. Then approximately two months later, I took the SAT Subject Tests and felt like I did well, although certain classmates who thought that my actions, such as registering for the SAT I and SAT II early, was weird, expected me to not do well. Yes, I will admit that I am not perfect, nor was perfection ever my target. Originality is. Being original is my method of being prepared. While I tend to associate being original with being weird, I won't regret taking my devotion as far as testing twice for three hours in a frigid classroom.
Weird accompanies the notion of withdrawn. From society. From relatives. Weird is an abstract adjective, only depicted when expressed. It brings a vile gift of inescapable solitude. There is always a silent inquiry for understanding within me. In spite of this, being weird has its pleasant opportunities. I used to read classics in middle school, and especially loved the novels written by the Brontë sisters, which inspired me to write a shrinklit for the literary fair, to which I was awarded second place.
The idea of being weird does not spook me anymore. It has grown to become my shadow, and I've learned to accept it; I have converted its title to "individualized originality." Another element has began to intertwine with being weird——genuine novelty——crocheting timelessness with contemporary, further enforcing the infinitely sprouting originality. If I wasn't a subject to originality, then all of those interests, archery for instance, wouldn't exist and those nostalgic occurrences neither. Originality elevates me to an extensive lake of perception, and being weird inspires it all along.
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